


The Boys Are Back

by thegingermidget



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clone Fic, Crack Treated Seriously, Eventual Relationships, Minor Lotor/Shiro, Multi, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegingermidget/pseuds/thegingermidget
Summary: After learning the secrets of Oriande, Haggar attempts to bring another loved one back to life. With her magic and the life-giving properties of Altean alchemy, this spell promises to benefit her far more than resurrecting Zarkon had. Lotor was always such a complicated boy. If she can bring him back without his hatred for her, or his lust for power, or his willfulness, he could be the perfect son.The spell works and Haggar gets her perfect son. The problem? She was unable to bring to life a Lotor with only the characteristics she desired. The spell has unintended consequences.The universe isn’t prepared for five Lotors.





	1. The Prince Lives

The scent of ozone fills the air and Haggar takes it in with deep, labored breaths. The crackle of electricity and magic has ended with her efforts, but the room’s silence seems weighted with potential, poised to begin again. 

Her chest aches as she steps forward to the body of her son. The bodies of her son, but just the one in the center really matters now.

She has to marvel at the perfection of the clones. The perfect image of her son lies before her, though she has never seen him look so at peace. Haggar wonders if that will change this time around, with this second chance she has seized for herself. Perhaps this time he might even look at her with kindness in his eyes. Perhaps he will call her ‘mother’ instead of ‘witch’.

All of that relies on this experiment working, of course. These endless ticks shall determine whether or not this experiment has been for nothing. All the man in front of her has to do is open his eyes at last. 

She can’t help but spare a glance at the other unconscious figures in the room. Their eyes shut tight and limbs hanging limp. Spares saved in the event that this one doesn’t work out. It doesn’t hurt to keep a few extras lying around. Her most recent cloning experiment taught her that.

There is no reason why this one shouldn’t work as well or why it is taking as long as it is for him to wake up. Still, there is another thing Haggar has learned over the thousands of years of her existence and it is to be patient. 

She places a gnarled hand on her boy’s cheek. Her hand is less withered and decrepit than it once was, but it still looks ancient next to the flawless, violet porcelain of his skin. Even lifeless, he is more beautiful than either she or Zarkon had been in their prime. Perhaps it was a side-effect of quintessence exposure in his youth that gave the young emperor his good looks.

The body on the table gasps to life theatrically, with a shudder and a jolt. His eyes open wide, his pupils are small, and they dart about the room before landing on her. Haggar holds her breath, waiting to discover the results of her trial run.

His eyes study her face for a moment, trying to make sense of what he sees, a word on his lips. She knows she looks different. Oriande has changed her features. The Galra physique she had worn for so long couldn’t hide her there and when she returned, she hadn’t bothered with the disguise. 

“Mother?” he near-whispers. The word breaks her heart and heals it again and again. She closes her eyes to listen to the echo of it in her mind.

“Yes,” she answers. “I’m here, my son.”

In a moment of bravery, she lowers herself to sit beside him on the table and wraps her arm around him. She can’t remember ever having done this to him, even when he was a child. She isn’t sure he would have allowed her to past the age of five, even if she had wanted the to hold her child in her arms. The Galra do not show weakness in public. Displays of affection are shown only by those willing to defend that affection.

He is larger than her even without his armor on. When he folds in, accepting her embrace, he envelopes her. 

“I’ve brought you back, my son,” she murmurs into his chest. She is determined to appreciate this in all the ways she hadn’t when he was alive. “Have you forgiven me?” By his reaction to her face, to her affection, she knows his answer before he says it. Haggar relishes it all the same.

“Of course, mother,” says Lotor. She can feel the vibrations of his voice and she grins against his chest. She will never take the word ‘mother’ on his lips for granted. “I know now how much you love me.”

Words she has dreamed of hearing, had pictured hearing even as she had cast her spells over him. In the past, she would have been forced to doubt their veracity, forced to suspect that they were nothing but an attempt to manipulate her. From her new son, the one she has crafted to perfection, they are completely genuine. 

“I do, Lotor.” She pulls away from him and looks at his face. A boy who loves his mother, completely free of artifice. Everything she had wanted. 

“We should go,” she says. “There is much to be done. I have big plans for the two of us.”

They rise from the altar, Lotor’s legs are uncertain at first but he steadies himself soon enough, and they start to leave. Haggar’s druids step forward to clean the room after the intense session of magic. The clatter behind them as they walk is nothing but the sound of many hands tidying the mess she has made. 

Until one of them calls out in alarm. 

Haggar turns at the sound. She almost shouts to them, words of warning or discipline at the ready, when she sees what has the five druids in shock. One of the clones in its chamber lining the wall has started to move. He thrashes against the glass of the stasis chamber and claws at the mask covering his face.

“Move,” she commands the druids. She rushes over to the chamber and peers in through the glass. Yellow eyes meet hers and her mouth opens in shock. He is awake.

“Let him out,” she commands. 

Someone, anyone obeys her. Before the chamber has been drained, another clone pounds against the glass, a fist threatening to break through in anger. Still another raps his knuckles gently on the chamber, signally life politely after the initial shock of realizing he was alive. A fourth kicks at his restraints, his shouts muted by liquid and feeding tubes.

“Let them all out!” she shouts. She can hardly tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her, clones stumbling out of their chambers, but she knows she must. “Go to your rooms,” she says to Lotor, her Lotor, who has been watching from behind her.

“Yes, mother,” he says obediently. His eyes are wide, but he knows his mother will do what is best for him and so he leaves. 

She smiles at the retreating form of the good son she has created before turning back to the mess she has made. Four more clones are alive, walking, breathing, and conscious. She has only a few ticks to decide what to do with them.

The druids give the clones a wide berth. These bodies weren’t prepared for the ritual in the same way that the first one had been. The nutrient wash they were floating in has coated their simple flight suits, soaked their hair, and dripped onto the floor. 

Despite their identical composition, Haggar sees that each version of her son holds himself differently. One stands tall and proud despite his disheveled appearance. Another holds himself in much the same way the real Lotor might have, especially in the moments when he looked upon her. His gaze is haughty and imperious and his arms are folded across his chest. The one who had awoken in a violent fit continues to gasp for air in a snarl. His eyes daring any of them to step closer. The last looks about the room in furtive glances, his eyes soft and worried and his lips parted just slightly. 

Haggar stands, mouth agape and taking the sight of all four of them in. She realizes now exactly what has happened. She shuts her mouth tightly for a moment before making her decision. 

“Destroy them,” she commands to her druids before taking her leave. Surely her most faithful servants can handle four newly born clones. 

She should have known that having the perfect son, at last, would come with a price. It had been too easy to hold him in her arms and to listen to him call her ‘mother’ without the faintest whisper of a fight. In forming her perfect Lotor, she had needed to pick and choose which aspects of her son she wanted to keep and which she wanted to do without. Admittedly, she may have kept very little of the original Lotor for herself. Haggar didn’t need his attitude, his flair for the dramatic, or his curiosity. All of those traits had proven problematic when dealing with her son in the past.

To see all of those traits personified… that was more than Haggar was prepared to deal with. 

The druids could handle it and if not, she would deal with them and the clones later.

***

The door shuts behind Haggar and leaves the four Lotors blinking at her disappearance before turning to the five druids. The witch’s minions keep to the walls of the room, surrounding the clones and inching closer.

Two of the Lotor’s widen their stances, preparing for a fight. Without a word, the five of them move toward the center of the room, standing back to back to face their attackers. 

One of the clones looks frightened at the sight of the encroaching masked figures. “Destroy them?” he asks the others. Even amidst his fear, he acknowledges the three other figures that look exactly as he does and knows that something strange has happened.

The other clones do not respond and this clone too falls into line, staring down the black eye slits of the druid nearest him.

“What are we going to do?” he asks the others. 

This time, the one on his right, a more confident clone, one of the initial two prepared to defend themselves, answers. “We’re going to fight.”

The fourth clone simply laughs, loud and unnerving, and says nothing to explain himself. 

When the druids charge, so do the clones. 

Though they are outnumbered, the clones hold their own against their adversaries. The druids are magicians first and foremost; their work mostly involves spell casting and research. They certainly weren’t trained to take on four highly skilled fighters. And despite the clones’ lack of weaponry and the shock of being brought back to life only to be executed, they excel at hand to hand combat. 

Punches are thrown. One druid’s mask falls to the ground with a clatter before another clone picks it up to protect his fist. A particularly ambitious druid grabs one Lotor clone by his long white hair before that Lotor snarls and unleashes his claws on the druid’s throat.

The laughing clone stands on the altar in the center of the room, kicking at any druids who might dare approach him. Hopelessly outmatched despite outnumbering their opponents, the druids soon learn to avoid him. Without challengers, this Lotor leaps from the table to rejoin the fray.

The druids attempt to avoid being attack by teleporting away from danger, but there are simply too many Lotors. The second they find themselves out of one fight they are drawn into another. Two druids lie on the ground unconscious and the balance of the fight has started to shift in favor of the clones.

The two Lotor’s who stood ready to fight initially, combine their efforts to take down one druid and toss another across the room. One laughs in triumph while the other coldly turns his attention to his next victim, a cruel smile playing at his lips. 

The gentler Lotor has a bit more trouble than the other three but is able to evade the druid focused on him. He is quick and nimble, but there is a sheen of sweat on his brow and his confidence is failing. The druid has not been able to hit him yet but has backed Lotor into a wall. His eyes widen. 

The Lotors acting as a team grab hold of this druid’s shoulders and turn him around to face them. They smile together, perfect mirror images of each other. Then they take him out, working in tandem to eliminate him from the fight.

“Thank you,” murmurs the Lotor who has just been saved.

“Figure out how to get us out of here,” says a Lotor who has the druid in a stranglehold.

The rescued Lotor nods and heads to the doors where he knows there is a holo display. He finds that when he thinks about it, he knows a lot of things, about this ship, about the woman who left them to die, and about a past he probably didn’t live. The knowledge is almost enough to cause him to freeze again, but he swallows that feeling and keeps moving. 

The fight continues on around him as he pokes and swipes at the screen. The doors to the room should open automatically for them, that really isn’t the problem. The problem is that they have nowhere to go and Haggar wants them dead. They need to get out of here and fast. There are only two remaining druids and even with their masks on they look scared. Once those are taken care of, they will need somewhere to escape to.

But this Lotor has a plan. The Galra don’t have escape pods. If the ship starts to go down in the middle of a fight, the Galra are honored to go down with their ship. And if the systems begin to malfunction, the inability to escape does wonders for bolstering the imagination into finding a quick solution. This ship does, however, have transport vessels: ships to carry people and cargo from the capital ship to nearby cruisers; and it as fighter crafts, faster, less noticeable, but smaller. This Lotor formulates a route to the nearest hangar, specifically designed to avoid most guards along the way. 

The map on the display also shows the nearby hangar where Lotor’s private ship is housed or rather, is usually housed. He knows all of them would likely prefer to travel in that ship and is slightly sad himself at the prospect of not being able to. Time is precious now, though. They can’t risk being detected because they are feeling sentimental.

When he looks up, the three other clones have done away with the last of the druids. Their opponents have been reduced to heaps of cloth on the ground, some with their masks tossed aside. The clearly mad Lotor sneers at them.

“Fools!” He shouts. “You were no match for us infinitely superior beings. Raise a hand to us again and we shall burn your cities to the ground!” Each of the other clones turns to look at him. While they all look far from their bests, this Lotor has a madness to him that is manifested body and soul. 

“Where are we headed?” asks one of the other Lotor’s. He speaks urgently and looks at the Lotor standing by the door. 

“There’s a hangar not too far away. Follow me and I can get us past most of the sentries.”

“Excellent,” he says and the two of them head out together. They open the doors but the two Lotors pause for a tick when they realize that the other two clones are not following them. “What are you doing?” asks the same clone.

“Why would you chose to leave?” asks the clone who still stands beside his violent twin. “Our empire is here. Our armies, our fleet. I am staying here where I can conquer the universe. Only a fool would flee.” The clone next to him bares his teeth and the sharp points of his fangs in a gesture of agreement.

“Haggar is going to kill you when she finds out you’re still alive,” The calmer clone says. He may not have been the best in a fight, but he knows he is intelligent. “You will die before you ever get a chance to reclaim our empire.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he retorts. “Have fun living in exile again. It was great fun the last time, but I prefer being emperor instead.”

“We have to go,” says the other escaping clone and the group of clones divides in two. From down the hall, they can hear an unhinged laugh echoing against the steel. 

They run together and match each other step for step when one clone isn’t looking to the other for direction. As planned, they do not encounter anyone who tries to stop them.

“Should we take a fighter or a transport vessel?” The intelligent clone asks. He has an opinion of his own but wants to see if his new partner in crime will concur. 

“Fighter,” the other says decisively. “Faster, lighter, with an engine equipped for long distance journeys and a top of the line navigation center. A stealth fighter would be our best bet, but once we disable the tracking nodes we shouldn’t have to worry about being followed.”

It was as if he had read his mind. 

They slowed as they came upon the entrance to the hangar. Lotor, the fighter, crouched with a finger to his lips. He surveyed the hangar for guards and found only two, both occupied with something unseen and facing away from the door. The crouching Lotor turns to look at his companion, hair now dry and tossed over his shoulder, with a small smile on his face. His eyebrows were quirked in a question as if to say ‘think you can handle this?’

The other Lotor isn’t so sure that he can but nods anyway. They step softly behind the two guards to take them by surprise. The fighter hooks his long arm around one guard's neck and traps his victim’s arm behind his back. It happens in one fluid motion and the other Lotor, holding back due to nerves, pauses for a tick just to admire the maneuver. Which is when the guard he was supposed to be taking out turns around to see him.

In what must have been a reflex, the more bookish Lotor launches himself at the guard and wrestles him to the ground. 

The other clone drops his guard to the ground with a laugh. “That’s one way to do it.”

“Can you find us a ship while I figure out what to do with him?” 

“Gladly.” 

That Lotor helps him deal with his guard too once he has secured a ship and started the ignition process. He even helps himself to the cape the guard was wearing. When they are safe inside their stolen Galra fighter, he tears a strip of fabric from it and ties it around his neck. “Now you can tell us apart.”

The other Lotor frowns, thinking that if he tried to wear something like that he would end up looking foolish rather than roguish. Then he realizes how silly that thought is. They are literally the same person. 

The now-stylish Lotor kicks his feet up onto the back of the pilot’s chair and extends his legs as far as he can in the small space. The area he sits in is really meant for supplies, but he seems very comfortable.

“Where are we headed?” The quieter clone asks, even though he has found himself in the pilot’s chair. He managed to fly out of range of the capital cruiser and evade the few fighters that tried to follow them. Now, they are flying out into open space, aimless, which is starting to frighten him. 

“What’s the nearest civilized planet?”

“Tyrus. We should be able to find disguises ourselves there.” He looks back at his clone to see him frowning. 

“They are under Galra rule,” he muses. “Our ship would blend in, but our faces might be recognized. I do have my disguise…” The pilot resists rolling his eyes. ”I think it might be worth the risk.”

Pilot Lotor agrees, though not because of the disguise. “Where do we go from there?” After being born only a varga if not doboshes ago, he is trying to think of their future rather than their messy past.

“To Voltron, of course.”

For the first time since they met, the two clones have a serious difference in opinion. “That’s the last place we should go! Second to last if you count the ship we’ve just escaped!” If the forward momentum of their ship didn’t carry them through space regardless of what he did, he would have put them at a dead stop. “Not to mention they are the reason we died in the first place.”

“We are the reason we died. Us and the two or three other clones we left behind. I think we need to make amends and more importantly,” he leans forward, placing his head just to the side of the pilot’s chair. “Get them on our side before the others get up to something terrible.”

The pilot gulps. He knows what Lotor is talking about even if he wishes he didn’t. “This is a terrible idea.” He shifts the controls and begins preparations for their descent to Tyrus. 

“I think by the time we’re done here you’ll come around.” 

The pilot shakes his head, unconvinced. He doesn’t necessarily have a plan of his own. The smartest thing to do in their situation would be to disappear for a while, find someplace they can hide and wait until they are forgotten. It isn’t an especially attractive plan, but it is the safest. 

Tyrus is a trading planet, not rich in its own natural resources but rich enough in history that people flock to it to sell what the planet does not produce on its own. It should be busy enough to hide them while they acquire disguises. The air is dry and dusty when they land and the sand helps add to their ‘disguises’. The Lotor with the cape and scarf has the smaller piece tied over his face and offers the rest of the cape to the other clone. He takes it because he really has no better option. They still look identical to anyone with eyes, but it will be enough for now. 

For the first time in either of their lives, they are forced to shoplift to get what they need. A jacket, some boots, rope and a knife aren’t too hard to take and carry back to their ship. They hide most of it in plain sight on their persons. If the shopkeepers notice, they say nothing. Maybe there is a benefit to looking like the emperor.

When they return to the ship, the roguish Lotor gathers his hair up with a segment of their recently acquired rope. He holds the length of it in one hand and takes up the knife with the other. It almost pains the other clone to watch the severed white tresses fall away.

“Still handsome?” The shorn Lotor asks.

“Another way to tell us apart,” says the other, refusing to acknowledge the comment. 

“We should get something to eat before we leave and try to gather some information on where Voltron was last seen.”

The second part is something the other Lotor is still not on board with, but he follows his twin back into the market. They blend in better this time. Neither of them are perfectly disguised, not to anyone looking for the Galra prince, but no one is and so they remain safe. 

They barter their recently acquired knife away for far less than it is worth. Now at least, they have money to buy their last meal with. The alien they deal with has too many hands and too many eyes. Both Lotors feel too intensely scrutinized to put up much of a fight in price haggling.

When they both have sticks of roasted Pentagruul tentacles drenched in a fragrant yellow sauce, they wander the market. The sights and smells are familiar to both of them. They, in their past life, have been here many times before. There are also little details: blue and green Sandavi silks, thick Darnine incense emanating from one stall in a cloud above the marketplace, and even a watery purple soup that neither of them can quite place, that send them back across the galaxy in their memories. They don’t put it into words for each other, but they both recognize how strange it is to have memories and to know that they don’t exactly belong to you.

They know they are Lotor. They also know that the man they are traveling with is Lotor and that those three other men they met were Lotor. It is easy to come to the conclusion that they are clones; that they are not the original man from their memories. It is far more difficult to accept that fact. 

“What should I call you?” asks the pilot. They are seated in the shade under a cloth canopy after spending a bit more of their funds on some sweet tasting frozen drinks. “We should have some method of designating ourselves. You are Lotor, I am Lotor. I fear this could get confusing eventually.”

The other clone frowns slightly, considering. Their situation would have already become difficult if they had one of the others traveling with them. With just the two of them, they have managed thus far. “Shall I call you ‘One’ and you can call me ‘Two’?”

Using numbers seems like a clear and simple choice, if a bit dehumanizing. The Lotor now to be known as One nods once in agreement. He doesn’t like it. It’s foolish but he already has a name, it just so happens to be a name that doesn’t belong to him alone. 

“I suppose being One and Two are better than being Three, Four, or Five.”

“Well, we are clearly the better clones,” says Two. “Besides, the clones who stayed aren’t likely to survive long enough to need designations.”

Neither of them feels too badly about the three other Lotors they left behind, especially the two that chose to stay. They had their chance to leave and now they had to live or die because that decision. 

With the last drops of their drinks all but licked from their containers, the two clones stand and move on. They need to find someone who knows anything about Voltron before the sun sets and the quintent ends. Rumors aren’t a good enough reason to risk being caught by Haggar.

They pause next to a holo display, one that typically displays advertisements or city maps when they notice their wanted holos. This isn’t the first time that Prince Lotor’s face has appeared on one of these. The two wanted men slip into the shadows to avoid attention when small crowds gather around some of the other kiosks. The bounty is a large one, a regal sum, and one that will send more than a few ruffians after them. 

“It’s a good holo,” says the more roguish Lotor, Two. He is more suited to be a wanted man. The other Lotor tightens his cape around himself to hide his long hair and lilac skin.

Despite One’s pleas, the two of them continue through the market. Occasionally, they stop to talk to one of the merchants or a fellow customer, but more often than not they come up empty-handed. 

They find a common area where merchants take a break from their stalls to play board games and gamble. Seems like as good a place as any to hear gossip. 

They partake in a game or two. With almost no money to gamble away, they don’t last long, but now they have been invited into the circle with the rest of them. Now they can ask questions. 

“Has anyone heard from the Lions in a while, the Paladins of Voltron?” Two speaks casually, as if they are all good friends. One thinks he sounds too imperious. Their voice is bold and sonorous from years of practicing perfect elocution. 

The question is purposefully ambiguous. There is no way to know which way the allegiances of the group sway. Tyrus is under Galra rule, but they are a well-behaved planet where the Empire’s grip is lessened. It is best to stay vague until it becomes clear one way or the other.

“You hear things now and again,” says a short bug-like alien. “But who’s to say any of it’s true?”

“What have you heard?”

“Sometimes you hear that they’ve been flying over this or that planet. Sometimes you hear that they’re hiding. Not doing anything important really.”

“It’s been almost three deca-phoebs since anyone’s seen them. Probably time to face the fact that they’ve disappeared again,” says a furry blue alien with yellow hands and feet and a long, sticky tongue. 

Three deca-phoebs. The two clones look at each other and look away quickly to avoid appearing suspicious. So long since their fight with Voltron, since they had been lost to the blinding white of the rift. 

“Where were they last seen?” asks the long-haired Lotor.

“Why do you care?” 

“My brother’s a fan,” says the other clone, coming to his rescue. 

“Who did you say you were again?” asks the bug.

Two stands and pulls the other to his feet. “We didn’t.”

The other clone puts a hand on his shoulder, slowly taking a few steps back. “I think we should get going. It was lovely meeting you.” 

No one follows them back to their ship, but they don’t give anyone the chance. The Lotor who got them there takes the pilot chair again and takes them up into orbit without a word from the other clone. 

“Now what are we going to do?” he asks when they reach a stable orbit. He can talk and move about the ship if he needs to without having to worry about the ship going somewhere he doesn’t want it to. Two looks the most concerned he has ever looked, considering their next move.

“We aren’t safe in the Galra Empire any longer. In truth, we never were. Our only chance is to head to Coalition territory.”

“Head to the Coalition? Why not a neutral system?”

Two looks up at him. “We have no chance of finding Voltron there. Better to see what their allies have been up to than to venture into no man's land.”

The other Lotor turns away to face the ship's controls. He still hasn’t been convinced that Voltron would help them, that they need anyone else’s help. They could head to a neutral planet and make lives for themselves, far away from the threat of Haggar and the other Lotors. 

With this thought, One realizes the way in which he differs from the other clones. He has Lotor’s memories, he knows how he is meant to act and how that is contrary to everything he has wanted to do since waking up. He realizes that perhaps all of the anxiety and fear Lotor had always kept beneath the surface had been collected and bestowed upon him. His companion would never settle for a life of peace and anonymity. The Lotor in his memory would never have fled responsibility and power for safety. He, himself, isn’t sure that such a life is what he wants. All he knows is that it is the smartest option. 

The pilot closes his eyes and leans against the dashboard. He takes a tick to collect himself before speaking again with a sigh. “Where to?” He already knows the answer but is unable to say it aloud.

“Olkarion,” says the other Lotor, a smile in his voice. “Why settle for anything less than their capital?”

Sure, if they were going into enemy territory, why not head right into the heart of it?


	2. Mama's Boy

Lotor isn’t sure what to make of what has just happened. His birth or rebirth is what has just happened, he supposes. Beyond that, however, there is a lot to take in. He had been relieved when his mother told him to leave and had complied immediately. If he is honest with himself, he might need to lie down for a moment just to sort through it all.

More than all of this strangeness with clones, it’s these damn memories that are causing him the most trouble. For a start, its the way that he knows where his rooms are or the way his hand goes to the keypad automatically to gain entry to his private quarters. He has memories of a life, a very long life, that do not belong to him.

They cannot belong to him because there is no way he ever would have done half of those things. 

The person in those memories is rebellious, adventurous, and cunning. He is independent and strong-willed. These aren’t bad qualities necessarily, just not ones he currently possesses. 

The person in his memories can’t be him, and yet he knows that these things have happened. The proof of them is in the way that his feet lead him to a room that happened to belong to him and was full of things he considers his. The proof is in the way the door opens for him when he places his hand on the sensor. 

He can’t quite reconcile his past behavior with the person he is now and it vexes him. And then there is the matter of those clones…

Mother will be able to explain this to him. 

The thought satisfies his curiosity almost instantly. Despite all of these pesky memories, he trusts her implicitly. After all, she was the one to bring him back to life. She had been selfless, tireless in her efforts to revive him. Now after everything, she deserved a son who could rule the universe under her guidance.

Lotor blinks for a moment when he realizes the long tangent his brain has followed. He can’t quite remember what started him off on that thought process. 

He is lying on his bed when he snaps out of it. The light flight suit he was reborn in was comfortable enough that he found himself lying in repose as soon as he sat down on his bed. His train of thought had been lost somewhere as he was staring up at the ceiling. 

That is enough of that. 

He moves to his closet and to selects something more regal to wear. The indignity of this flight suit had been a necessity born of circumstance. Now that he is back to rule he will need to look the part. He sees the pieces of his old armor, polished to perfection but undoubtedly old and used and decides to leave them where they are. A new body, a new life, deserves new clothing. 

Lotor wonders briefly what his mother might like to see him wear. Something grand perhaps, with a flowing cape and an embroidered doublet, to mark him as emperor. Forgoing armor might prove that as emperor and an accomplished swordsman, he fears no challenger. Then again, something so delicate and bloodless might alienate his people. Perhaps he should wear something to emulate his father. Sharp edges and metal, large and imposing.

He finds a pair of boots to suit his purpose: black, armored, and meant to exaggerate his height. His pants are a cloth material with two stripes of rich, iridescent red and silver fabric running down the side. He decides that a combination of the two ideas would set him apart. He chooses an unworn version of his usual breastplate and shoulder pads. It had gone unworn mostly because it bore his father’s colors and the imperial insignia. The old Lotor had not been a fan of either.

He thinks about wearing a helmet of some sort, though he is loath to burying his hair unless it is absolutely necessary. As he considers the idea, the door to his rooms opens and he turns to see his mother, unhooded and looking more Altean than he has ever seen her.

“Mother,” he greets her. “I trust those imposters were dealt with?” He berates himself for even asking after them. Why had he thought about the clones at all?

“Yes, my son. I couldn’t let them stand in the way of our plans.” She takes in the sight of him, her head tilting to see everything. He towers over her and his new boots doubt help. “You look like your father,” she says and she walks around him in a full circle. He turns with her, not thinking. “But more handsome I think.”

Lotor blushes a bit at that. “It isn’t too much?” 

“No,” his mother answers quickly. “No, I always hated your old armor. Too nonconformist, too bold. This is much better.” She runs her hand a little greedily along the plane of his shoulder pauldron. “Come, we have much to do.”

They head to the throne room and along the way they discuss how they will address the Empire. How Lotor will address the Empire. He has been away for far longer than anyone would have liked. The once indomitable Galra have torn themselves apart into factions. His will be a welcome banner to unite under once again. Only fools will choose to continue to fight.

He lets his mother tell him what to say. She has lived through these last three deca-phoebs. She knows what they will want to hear. 

None of it sounds unreasonable. It’s nice actually. These last few deca-phoebs could have gone much smoother if he had simply listened to his mother instead of casting her aside. He regrets having done that. The version of himself that exists in his memories is a constant reminder of everything that he owes his mother. How grateful he should be that she elected to bring him back at all. He vows to do much better this time.

There are camera drones already set up, hovering in front of the throne. His mother has arranged everything. They will broadcast to every former Galra ship and across every open channel. Even if they have declared themselves enemies of the state, they will receive this message. 

Perhaps he should be nervous, but he was always a strong public speaker. With his mother to bolster him, he feels no fear.

He gives his speech to the empire standing in front of the throne, wielding a newly forged sword and with his mother standing at his side.

“People of the Galra Empire,” His voice echoes throughout the throne room and across the universe. “Your Emperor has returned from beyond this dimension to lead you once more. In my absence, you have grown feral, weak. You squabble over territory and trade. Once great generals have become petty warlords without my hand to guide you.”

He speaks to them like the immature children they are, having let the greatest empire in the universe, one that has ruled for hundreds of generations, crumble in the span of only three deca-phoebs.

“Some of you might question my authority. Some of you may whisper about my absence. Whisper no longer. I return victorious after defeating Voltron once and for all. I did not abandon my Empire. No, I ensured that the reign of the Galra will never end. The greatest threat to our rule has been erased from existence.”

He paused staring down the camera droid in front of him.

“I have created the path forward for all of us. Return to me and your grievous treachery shall be pardoned. Continue to defy me and you shall meet the same end as the paladins of Voltron.”

The signal cuts out after a moment and when it does, he turns to his mother and smiles. “Now all that’s left is to wait for their leaders to send in their declarations of loyalty.” He is still riding high on the wave of confidence he used to give the speech. He speaks a bit too loudly, too forcefully, before he remembers who he is talking to. “Do you think they will surrender?”

“Some will. The rest we will need to hunt down, but the majority will fall in line. For all that the Galra value strength, they crave a leader who is stronger than they could ever be.” His mother places a hand on his cheek. “You are that leader.”

He leans into his mother’s touch. In his ten thousand deca-phoebs of existence, he has allowed so few people to get this close to him. And only one person has in recent memory.

The doors to the throne room open, interrupting their tender moment. They both turn to look angrily at the disruption.

“Sir,” says a guard, a Galra one and not some autonomous droid. He is out of breath and wide-eyed. “We have a problem.”

***

“This is the worst,” says Lotor Two. In his own opinion, he has done an admirable job of keeping himself from complaining. After four quintents stuck in this fighter, though, he is beginning to reach the limits of his patience.

They have been catching rides on larger, faster ships for the better part of the last three quintents; One’s idea to help them reach Olkarion before the end of the next deca-phoeb. After making the few hyperspace jumps their ship was capable of, they settled in to fly the rest at the ship’s normal speed. At this rate, it should only take them another phoeb to reach the planet. They had resigned themselves to a long trip; both of them were used to being patient. They were ten thousand deca-phoebs old. Surely, they could handle a measly phoeb.

The problem was that they were unable to leave their ship for at least a movement. The best way to ensure that they were moving fast enough and were not detected was to latch onto a ship and stay there until their supplies ran out. 

It made for a severely uncomfortable journey. 

One doesn’t respond to his whining and Two is grateful for that. He knows he is being pathetic. He sits up and folds his knees beneath him, both to change his position after sitting the same way for two vargas and to get closer to One’s ear.

“Should we rehearse what we are going to say when we get to Voltron?” He knows One is still reluctant to seek out Voltron, but he is trying to appeal to the other’s desire for a solid plan of action.

One sighs and Two knows he has him. “Alright, fine. Assuming we are able to find Voltron, something no one has done for three deca-phoebs, what should we tell them?”

“Well, we can’t rely on Allura to come to our aid. I’m afraid our efforts to extract quintessence from Altean refugees might be a crime even she can’t forgive.” His chest feels tight as he says this and he isn’t sure why, but he pushes through it.

“But if she is against us, what is to stop the others from outright rejecting us as well?”

Two considers this for a tick. He means to persuade One over to his side with this conversation, but he also knows that this is important to consider before jumping into a confrontation with Voltron. He isn’t entirely certain that they won’t jump into a fight and try to blast them out of the sky as soon as they realize who they are talking to. If that is the case, none of this will matter, but if they hesitate for even a second, they should have a plan.

“The black paladin, their de facto leader. He will listen to what we have to say.”

And it feels true as he says it. Shiro, he remembers, was more pragmatic from the start. Less likely to submit to old prejudices as long as it was for the good of his team. There was a chance that all of that cooperation had been the result of Haggar’s spell, but it was a chance they were going to have to take.

One isn’t ready to leave their lives up to chance. “In our final moments with Voltron, he hated us just as vehemently as all the rest. We will need to make sure that we have something to say. _We_ need their help because we are on the run from our mother and the Empire. Why do they need us?”

The obvious answer is that they don’t, but the trick of it is that the two of them need to convince the paladins otherwise. Both Lotor’s wrack their brains for a solution. Something they know that the paladins don’t. Something they know that Haggar doesn’t know yet but might know soon. 

“We know our mother’s work better than anyone else. She, herself, said we had brought her work to new heights. She wants to continue that work with all of the new advances we have given her,” He says the last bit pointedly, trying to get the other Lotor to follow his line of reasoning. 

The yellow sclera of his eyes widens. “If the others tell her about the Alteans, she will want to use them and their pure quintessence, to power her ships.”

Two smiled, he had gotten it in one. “We can confess our crimes. Tell them how to get to the colony beyond the Quantum Abyss. Tell them how to stop the witch before she gets her hands on them.”

“She will have no qualms about exploiting her own people to get what she wants,” says One. “And with that technology, she could create a ship that might even surpass Voltron.”

Two leans back, though he doesn’t relax. “They need us more than they know.”

“We still need them to speak to us.”

Both Lotor’s resist remembering their final few vargas of life. How everything had come crashing down around their ears all because of one impertinent, ungrateful girl. The one who had escaped the utopia of the colony only to wreak havoc on the rest of what Lotor had created. So what if he had saved an entire race from extinction? Her family had been torn apart so she needed to make sure the rest of the universe was torn apart too.

“Perhaps by now they’ll be more amenable,” suggests Two. 

And of course by ‘they’ he means Allura. Three deca-phoebs is a long time for someone who hasn’t suffered the expanse of ten thousand deca-phoebs. If what their relationship had been anything close to what he thought it had been… If he had meant anything to her… 

Perhaps she might not hate him.

‘Perhaps’ is really all he has to offer his clone because they can’t know anything for certain. The last time they encountered Voltron it ended in an epic battle and in them being lost to the rift. They have no way of knowing if this time has the potential to be different.

They spend a few vargas in silence. There isn’t much to say to someone who knows your mind so completely. It is easy to sleep and read for vargas without saying a word, especially when they have so many of them to spend together. There are worse traveling companions to have than yourself.

“Do you want to take a look at their announcement?” asks One from the pilot’s chair. “This was released about a varga after we were created. We missed it in our escape but it was broadcast to just about every known world.”

Two switches seats with One to watch on the main holo screens. When it comes up he sees himself in some ghastly red and purple armor that reminds himself of his father. The witch stands at his side, visible for the entire recording. A hideous specter looming over the entire proceeding. 

The speech itself is nothing special. He has given many speeches like it in his time as prince and emperor. The words are forceful, threatening, and carry traces of the witch in them. To someone less familiar with the speaker, the speech conveys what it is meant to. To Lotor, it is obvious that the delivery is slightly off and the words are not entirely his own. 

He should have expected a video like this and yet it’s strange to see himself on screen, behaving like himself, and to know that this person isn’t him. The witch has created a puppet for herself, dressed it up, and is having it carry out her bidding. The entire scene disgusts him.

“Well,” he says when the broadcast cuts out. “That was awful, but to be expected.”

“Do you think anyone will listen?”

He considers this. “Some will. Those too weak to stand on their own will seek the comfort of a strong ruler. Others will put up a fight and that is good news for us. While the witch deals with minor insurrections throughout the empire, she will be too distracted to pursue her other interests.”

One arches a perfect white eyebrow at him. “Do you really believe that?”

“Well, it should slow her down at any rate,” he concedes. He turns back to the main screens, deciding that he may as well sit up front for some time to give both of them a change of scenery. He spies a notification in the upper left corner that draws his interest.

It is meant to indicate an incoming transmission and with the imperial announcement wasn’t already opened in front of him, he had no idea what it could be. If it was urgent it would have been displayed immediately on the main screen. If the empire had somehow managed to send a message to their stolen ship, that would have been more prominently displayed as well. This, however, is something different.

He turns in his seat to address One. “Have you seen this?” 

One gets up on one knee to look. “I didn’t notice it before. Open it.”

On the screens in front of them, a sitcom begins with two Bii-bo-bis sitting in an apartment. Both Lotors shared a look. Something is wrong with this message. They just can’t be sure what.

“Well, at least this is something to pass the time,” says Two. He has his chin in his hand as he watches the beginnings of a plot unfold. “Though, I’ve never really gotten Bii-bo-bi humor.” One of the bii-bo-bi’s strikes the other and the victim falls to the ground. He chuckles slightly at the hysterical yell the attacker makes upon seeing what he has done. “Though these little fellows might prove me wrong.”

“Do you hear that?” One asks suddenly. Two falls silent to listen. “Can you separate that sound from the rest?”

He does so with a few taps and a line of static plays from the ship’s speakers. It deafens both of them for a moment.

“Agh! What is that?” yells Two, covering one of his ears with one hand and turning it off with the other. 

One gets as far into the cockpit as he can without sitting in the pilot’s chair. “Seems to be deep space chatter,” he says, “Or someone wants it to appear that way. Can you filter it?”

One had been about to insist upon doing it himself before remembering that the other Lotor was likely to be just as capable at decoding secret messages. And he is likely to remember that certain rebel groups had a history of using them. His patience is rewarded in a few doboshes when the static gives way to pulses; the regular rhythmic beats of a transmission signal.

“But what are they trying to say?” asks Two, who has come to the same conclusion. 

Without knowing the key to the code being transmitted, it is nearly impossible to decipher the exact words of the message. The code is short and repeats itself over and over again ad infinitum. Without knowing what it says, it sounds like a distress call. 

They are able to track down the source of the signal easily. The signal is strong and comes from a nearby quadrant. Out of curiosity, Two pulls up their maps and radar to investigate from the safety of their hiding spot. What comes up on their radar is more than they were expecting.

“Do you see that?” asks Two, excitement creeping into his voice.

One’s eyes widen. He tosses his hair over his shoulder and leans over Two to get a better look. “Is that them?” he asks, his voice subconsciously pitched higher.

“What are the odds that five ships are rushing towards an unknown distress signal?” asks Two sounding smug. He shouldn’t be so cocky. The universe is massive. It’s entirely possible that five ships entirely unrelated to Voltron are investigating a distress call. 

One nearly hits his head on the roof of the fighter when Two takes hold of the ship’s yoke and pulls them away from the ship they’ve hitched a ride on. He hates Two for not warning him, but he understands the impulse. If that is Voltron…

Then their phoeb-long road trip across the universe just came to a screeching halt.

***

The two clones are brought into the throne room in handcuffs, surrounded by a battalion of guards. The measure seems excessive, considering the two men willingly surrendered, but the guards insisted on caution. Together, the four clones had taken out five of Haggar’s druids. Lotor thinks he would have liked to have seen that.

One of the clones kneels before the throne and bows his head. The other on the left is pulled down onto his knees by the other and snarls up at Haggar. His mother stands beside him, waiting to see what everyone has to say for themselves.

“Why have you brought them here?” his mother asks. She refuses to address the clones and instead speaks to the captain of the guards. 

He appears nervous and looks down to the kneeling emperors beside him. “High priestess, they were coming this way, to the throne room, when we intercepted them. They agreed to come peacefully in exchange for an audience with you.”

“And since when do the Galra do anything peacefully?” Haggar asks rhetorically and the captain gulps. She considers the two clones, neither of whom have taken their eyes off of her. One looks up at her intently, greedily, thinks the Lotor seated on the throne. The other on the left has violence written all across his features, as though he might bite her should she venture too close. Haggar steps down from the dais to take a closer look at the pair of them, almost tempting the clone to try something.

“Well, then?” she asks them, particularly the one who seems to have his wits about him. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“High priestess, we have come to offer you our services.” The Lotor on the right says, “As your creations, we feel we owe our lives to you and wish to aid you in your efforts to secure the universe under your rule.” He looks as though each word causes him pain. He attempts to hide his discomfort with a deferential tilt of his head as he stares down at the floor to avoid her gaze. It is meant to look respectful, but it is likely something else; disgust or hatred that forces him to avert his eyes.

Haggar sees right through him. She approaches him, places her hand under his chin and forces his eyes up. He doesn’t avoid her then. They stare each other down for a moment before at last Haggar releases him. 

“You were never meant to exist,” she says, turning her back on the two of them. “I wanted you to be destroyed. Why would you wish to serve me?”

For the first time since he has come into the room, the Lotor she is speaking to looks up at the Lotor still seated on the throne. His eyes find him there, and Emperor Lotor sits up straighter and scowls. With just a look, the criminal seems to be accusing him of something. The Lotor kneeling below catches the small reactions and grins, a flash of white fangs.

“I am your son. I am destined to rule,” he begins, speaking with his well-practiced oratory prowess.

“I have a son,” Haggar interrupts. “I have no need for another, particularly one as ambitious as you say.”

“But the son you have isn’t the son you need. The one you have created, this doting mother’s boy, isn’t fit to govern an empire. He lacks a mind of his own, the spirit to vanquish his enemies, the conviction necessary to carry out your plans. I do not.”

This is perhaps the most genuine he has sounded since he has entered the room. He has a raw desire for power that is obvious in his voice. The Lotor seated atop the throne bares his teeth at the accusations. He says nothing and doesn’t move from his spot. Let the liar spin his tale. This Lotor isn’t the one in danger. 

He looks to his mother, trying to gauge her reaction, trying to make sure she isn’t considering this snake’s words. He can’t see her face from where he is seated though, which leaves him anxious.

“And your friend?” his mother asks, referring to the clone who hasn’t spoken a word. 

“He knows he is better off here than being hunted down by your armies.” The other Lotor doesn’t respond with words but growls something unintelligible. 

“Then he is rational, despite his lack of eloquence.” Haggar returns to her son’s side at the top of the dais. She doesn’t look at him. Instead, she looks straight out over the two clones kneeling before them and the guards still at the ready. All of them are awaiting her judgment. 

“You may live,” his mother decrees and her son tries his best not to look shocked or angered by the decision. “I trust that since you are so willing to cooperate, you will have no objections to being detained for the time being. Just until you have proven your worth and earned our trust.”

The Lotor at her side looks up at the word ‘our’. It’s some small confirmation that she doesn’t intend to give up on him entirely, despite this minor betrayal. 

The ambitious Lotor nods. “Of course not. I look forward to working with you,” he says and it takes a tick for him to add, “Mother.”

With a wave, the guards take the two clones away, out the doors and back the way they came. Lotor and his mother are left alone again. The room is resoundingly quiet. He stands as his mother approaches him, thankful for his height for once. 

He considers holding his tongue, he doesn’t want to appear hurt or to seem rebellious. But when his mother looks up at him, he knows he has to say something. “Are you really going to trust him? Every word he speaks is tainted with treachery.”

“Are you trying to protect me, my son?” his mother asks, sounding almost amused. 

Lotor shakes his head. “I know you have no need for protection. You are strong enough and wise enough on your own.”

“Then, what is it? Why do you believe that your mother has taken leave of her senses?” She studies his face for a moment. He knows better than to hide things from her, but he doesn’t necessarily want her to know the truth of his feelings. Her eyes widen and he knows that she has found him out anyway. “Are you jealous of him? Did you suspect he might replace you in my heart?”

Lotor turns away. “I knew it was foolish.”

His mother grabs his wrists and he turns to her again. “No one can replace you, my Lotor. You are perfect in every way, just as I made you. That clone, as you correctly pointed out, is filled with lies. His ambition is something I eradicated in you. In him, it festers and spreads like a sickness. We will use it to our advantage and we will cast him out when we are through.”

She lays her hand against his cheek and he looks down at her. He is reminded of the way she had held the clone’s chin and looked down at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, mother,” he says earnestly. “Of course, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week and two days isn't too bad for an update right? I'm going to try to update this once a week. I'm already excited for the next chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	3. The Exile Prince

As they move in closer, it only becomes more obvious that they are on Voltron’s tail. They follow at a distance -Two is certain that they remain out of sight of their sensors- but up close they can make out the distinct shapes and colors of the Voltron lions. And it seems too good to be true. They aren’t even halfway to Olkarion yet, which means that Voltron is far from home. It seems that they Leaving, possibly, and it is hard to say why.

Each Lotor has several questions on their minds as they make a delayed descent to the planet in question. What is Voltron doing all the way out here? Where is the Castle of Lions? What sort of state is the Coalition in after three years on their own? What is Voltron up to after all this time? They land on the outskirts of a ruined city and for a moment, it seems like the answers to some of those questions might soon be revealed. 

The Voltron lions have landed in the center of the city proper. It’s a ghost town nowadays, the entire planet is completely deserted. The Lotors aren’t familiar with this planet in particular. They don’t have a name for this planet nor any memory of its people, but it looks as though there were people here, not too long ago in fact. And it is clear that there aren’t any people here today. There was that distress signal though, which means someone is alive down here and it is just their luck that Voltron is here to help them. 

Neither Lotor speaks as they step carefully through the rubble. They don’t want to attract any attention just yet. There isn’t a clear plan in place just yet for how they will make their approach on Voltron. For now, it seems prudent to hang back and proceed with caution, at least until they have gathered some information on the current state of the paladins. 

Two motions to One, a hand signaling ‘come here’ and the two of them head into a derelict building with crumbling, but so far architecturally sound, stairs. They climb three flights and make their way over to a window. From there, they manage to get a good look at the city, or what is left of it anyway. The lions are perched in a circle, their heads visible over the tops of buildings. Getting a look at any of the paladins is tricky with city blocks interrupting their view of the streets below, but eventually, they catch a glimpse of the group of them. All nine members of the Voltron team make their way cautiously through the city. How cute of them to travel in a pack.

Both Lotor’s press themselves to the interior walls at the sight of them. It seems clear that they or looking for whoever sent that distress signal, and it is obvious to the Lotors that finding the two of them instead would not be a welcome surprise. Better to watch and observe for now.

When they pass, the two of them decide with a look that it might be a good idea to follow them. Swiftly and silently, they run across rooftops, leap through open windows, and eventually find themselves on top of a building overlooking all five paladins of Voltron, the former black lion, the Galra woman, the treacherous Altean girl, Coran, and a large wolf. With a sudden snarl, the wolf bounds away from the main group. Both Lotors can only hope he isn’t after them.

The Voltron team chases after it and the Lotors shift from window to window as well to try and see what it has found. After a short struggle, the wolf has a figure pinned to the ground. 

“Who is that?” breathes One in a voice that is hardly a whisper. Two knows what he means but shakes his head. The figure seems familiar, definitely Galra, but they do not wear the armor of the Empire nor the light suits of the Blades of Marmora nor the robes of the witch’s Druids. He must have sent out the distress call, though he doesn’t appear to be in immediate danger. He also doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave this planet, which both clones finds suspicious.

After a quick discussion, Voltron seems to think they have found an ally here and they follow the figure back to his home. Neither Lotor is ready to trust this stranger. They should really be more careful.

Wordlessly, the two clones follow the group, trying to get a sense of what is about to happen. In addition to being cautious around Voltron, they now have an unknown entity to be wary of. There is something off about this whole situation, but they can’t be certain what it is yet. They crouch outside of the man’s hovel. He appears to live in a network of caves in the mountains that border one wall of the town. From outside, it is hard to get a look at what his living situation is like but it is possible to pick up the smell. 

While stuck outside, it is also difficult to hear much of their conversation. They are able to hear the sound of a gun being charged and gasps from around the room. Perhaps the members of Voltron are not as naive as they appear. Then, they hear the sound of the gun powering down and are left to wonder whether the man has been proven trustworthy or whether the members of Voltron have fallen for this man’s game. 

They can’t pick Allura’s voice out of the few that bounce off of the walls of the cave and reach their ears. Even if they couldn’t make out the words, it would be lovely to hear her voice again, speaking kindly as she might never again speak to them. 

The voices within the cave grow louder. The air is fraught with the tension that comes before a fight. All at once they have found this man to be unworthy. Two can’t help but wonder if this man’s crime compares to the one they believe he, himself, has committed. Then, suddenly, they can make out a word, a single shout of ‘no’ before the sound of an energy blast. Something has gone terribly wrong for the Voltron team and now is the time for the two of them to step in.

They aren’t sure what to suspect when they enter, but the eerie silence should have prepared them for what they saw. An energy field, lurid pink and luminous, traps the members of Voltron in a stasis field. The color alone tells them that this must be the work of one of their mother’s druids. 

The two of them approach the field but make no moves to touch it. The field is temporary, even if it leaves the members of Voltron vulnerable. Each member of Voltron is frozen in a state of shock, unmoving and unblinking. The shock of seeing Allura again is almost enough to make them ignore the absence of the Blade and his wolf, both of whom seem to have escaped their team’s unfortunate predicament. There is nothing either of the Lotors can do about it except wait for the magic to wear off. The other, unusable option would be to have someone with stronger magic free them, but both Lotors are sorely lacking in that department. Allura might be able to do it, were she not frozen with them. Frozen, she is just as helpless as the rest of them. 

A third option would be to have the Druid who cast the spell release them, but neither Lotor plans on leaving him alive long enough to undo his magic. 

Before leaving the chamber to descend into the caverns after the Druid, One takes one more lingering look at the princess. He stands right in front of her, taking in her beauty even through the fear on her face. He isn’t sure if she can see him while frozen, but he supposes he will find out soon enough. They have a Druid to catch.

The caves are dark and filthy, but for the most part, the way ahead is clear. There are a few instances where the path branches off into new dark tunnels, but only the main path is lit and well-used. The two of them step quietly and carefully, neither of them willing to lose the element of surprise just yet. If the Druid realizes that one of the paladins has escaped his curse, he will begin the hunt for him and his dog. That will be when the two Lotors can begin the hunt for him.

Farther along the tunnel, they can hear the electric zap of teleportation and the scape of a blade on stone. The sound of the Druid, confident and careless like a predator among easy prey. 

Both Lotors share a look, a form of near-telepathic communication that has worked for them so far, and come to the same conclusion. The Druid might be a match for the paladin, but he is no match for them. 

The wood of a makeshift bridge creaks beneath the Druid’s gnarled feet. He pauses for a moment as though he’s heard something; the light steps of the two Lotors’ feet, the paladin’s nervous breathing, wind in the cavern. When he turns, he almost looks directly at his two pursuers but is distracted in an instant by a storage can being knocked over by an infestation of vermin. With his attention elsewhere, the two Lotors pounce. 

They haven’t caught him completely by surprise. He reacts quickly to the sound of their rushing feet, but he is wholly unprepared for a dual assault. He has one blade to fend off two opponents and is instantly overwhelmed. He tries to teleport away, but One’s hands hold him fast. When he reappears, Two grabs hold of him as well and wrestles him into a hold. The Druid struggles against their grip.

“How can this be?” he growls, trying to free his arms but gaining no ground against the two clones.

Two looks down his nose at him, disgusted. “The witch didn’t let you in on her little plan? I shouldn’t think so, only a lackey would have landed such a pitiful outpost as this.”

“You were dead-” This time he attempts to move his shoulders and chest only to find that the motion strengthens the choke hold around his neck.

“There was also only one of us,” says One. “Times have changed.”

“What are you doing here?” says a voice from behind them. A growl from the wolf echoes the paladin’s question. 

Two turns the upper half of his body around to face him. The Druid seems to take this as an opportunity to escape and attempts to lunge out of both of their grips. One brings his foot down hard on the Druid’s thigh and the Druid lets out a feral yell. The bone underneath isn’t likely to be broken, but it can’t have felt good.

“Ah, Keith, isn’t it?” says Two, sounding a bit too cavalier for the circumstances. “Perhaps you’d like to do the honors.” They shift slightly to give him a good look at their captured Druid.

Keith holds his sword level at the three of them. His confidence has grown in his time away, but still, he wavers. “You were dead. You were lost in the rift.”

Both Lotors cringe slightly at the memory of that white place, endless and infinite. At the same time, it is equal parts glorious and terrifying, but they try to keep it as far from their minds as possible. It is where they died, for all intents and purposes. 

“Everyone seems to bring up the fact that we were dead, and not the fact that there are two of us now,” says Two. “Frankly, you paladins seem to escape death time and time again. Surely clones are the far more novel part of this situation.”

The wolf snarls at them again, filling in for his companions lack of words. 

“Keith, you need to get on with killing this one,” says One through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to have to catch him again.”

Keith hesitates, still trying to accept the reality of two Lotors in front of him and not especially eager to execute someone, even someone who earnestly wanted to kill him. Before he is able to make his decision, the sound of another large energy blast echos through the caves and the rock above all four of them begins to crumble. They have to leap out of the way to avoid being crushed and the Druid seizes the opportunity to escape.

Two bites back a swear as he scans the room looking for both the Druid and the source of the collapse. There amongst the settling debris is Allura and the rest of the Voltron team. She must have done it, he realizes with a laugh. She overcame the Druid’s magic to come to her friend’s aid. He might have kissed her if they were on better terms. Allura never fails to surprise.

She sees him immediately, sees the two of them, and the ferocious look on her face flickers and finally fades to shock. She wants to be upset with him, wants to blame this whole situation on him, but they have a job to do first.

“Where is he?” she asks, looking only at Keith. 

“Hang on, is that Lotor?” asks Hunk, who blinks rapidly and rubs at his eyes.

There is no time for a reunion as the Druid reappears behind the group of paladins. Hunk turns to fire at him, but each shot blasts through empty air. The Druid vanishes again, reappearing again behind Lance this time. The paladin in blue armor is taken completely by surprise as he is lifted up over the Druid’s shoulder and thrown hard against the cave wall. Pidge has no time to counter before the Druid teleports again. 

The fight happens too quickly for words. The Druid appears behind One and plants a well-placed kick in between his shoulder blades. One falls to the ground gasping for air as the Druid disappears once more. 

His sporadic appearances allow him to always have the upper hand on each of his attacks. He chooses to target those who aren’t paying attention, those who are looking the wrong way, and he gives them no time to react. 

Two curses his lack of weaponry. Neither of them is really a part of this fight without a weapon. He feels useless, all they can do is stay out of everyone else’s way and to avoid being targeted. Apparently, they are prey just as much as Voltron. In an attempt to avoid the fight, they nearly back into Kolivan the Blade, who hangs semi-conscious from the ceiling.

Allura attempts to use her bayard against the Druid, only to watch the coil of it fall back on itself, completely missing the target. The Druid comes after her next. He summons a bolt of magic and electrocutes the princess. She falls to the ground, completely sapped of energy. 

After the Druid has systematically removed each of the other paladins from the fight, Keith remains the last man standing. He holds himself tense and at the ready, trying to survey the entire room at once, never knowing where the next attack is going to come from. The sound of the Druid’s laughter is almost audible. He has the upper hand now, and he’s messing with Keith.

Neither Lotor really sees how he does it, how Keith predicts where the Druid will next appear. They see him freeze for a moment, they see his posture relax, and they watch as he springs into action and throws his knife at an unseen target. 

The knife connects with perfect accuracy and lethal force. The Druid is shut up for good when he appears again. His smile slides off of his face forever as he reels back, suddenly engulfed in an electric fulmination, a burst of dark magic. He vanishes from existence completely this time, leaving only an echo of his final scream still rebounding off the walls of the cavern as Keith’s dagger which falls to the ground, inert.

The quiet in the cave is resounding for a moment. Each person involved in the fight takes stock of the situation and then themselves, before slowly rising to their feet. Two offers his clone a hand and together they lower Kolivan from where he hangs. When they finish and the Blade is able to stand without assistance, they turn to face Voltron. Each of the paladins is in turn facing them, blades drawn and wearily preparing for another fight. 

“What are you doing here?” asks Lance. His words are both an accusation and a threat. What are you _still_ doing here? He seems to ask instead. And how can I change that?

Keith interjects before either Lotor has a chance to respond. “We don’t have time for this. Restrain them while we go get Kolivan help.”

Already this is going far better than either Lotor had dared to hope. Not only were they not killed on sight, they had actually managed to speak to the paladins and live to tell the tale. They hadn’t escaped execution yet, but they had reason to hope. From where they stood, their chances of survival were greater, the more time they spent in Voltron’s custody.

Allura uses her bayard to tie the two clones together. Its coils bind their hands and feet before tying them together back to back. It takes the combined efforts of Hunk, Lance, and Pidge to haul them back to the cave’s antechamber. Allura does not aid them for what seem like obvious reasons. She hasn’t said a word since they have appeared before her. Two isn’t exactly surprised, but he still yearns to hear her voice again even if she speaks in anger. 

Only Lance’s complaining breaks the silence of the group as they make their way back up. It is hard to say whether he does it out of genuine discomfort or in an effort to lighten the mood. 

The two clones are unceremoniously dropped to the ground when they reach the main room of the Druid’s former home. Shiro, Coran, the Altean, and the Galra woman are all gathered there. 

“Is that-?” starts the Galra cautiously.

“Lotor,” spits the Altean.

“But two of them?” asks a voice that can only belong to Coran.

There are too many people surrounding them and while they are bound it is impossible to get a look at all of them at once. Even when they are all standing around staring at them.

“They followed us here,” says Lance.

“How is this even possible?” asks Shiro.

“They tried to help me fight Macidus,” says Keith, quietly. The others hear him despite his low voice. 

Shiro steps forward, casting a shadow onto the two clones beneath him. They are of a height when standing, but from a seated position Shiro looms over them. Two notices that the man’s hair has gone fully white. It looks a bit like his own aside from the style. 

“How did this happen?” he asks slowly, the first in the room to address the two clones directly. Two hides a smile as he realizes his initial estimate of the Voltron team had been correct. Shiro was the one they would need to appeal to. Despite everything that had happened, he was still their leader. 

“Are you going to allow us to answer this time?” Two asks. He knows he is in no position to antagonize the paladins, but he really can’t help himself.

“We don’t need to allow you to do anything,” sneers Lance. One can see the blue-suited paladin’s hands resting on his bayard. A reminder that they are on thin ice. 

“Answer the question,” says Shiro. He doesn’t sound angry, just direct. He isn’t playing games.

One speaks first. “The witch, Haggar, she has spent the last three years experimenting trying to bring a version of us back to life.”

“You know how fond she is of cloning,” Two directs at Shiro with an uplifted chin. 

“Her plan went awry and instead of bringing back one of us-”

“-A horrid perversion of the original, designed to be her perfect son,” adds Two, his lip curled.

“She managed to bring to life five clones, each with a distinct personality,” finishes One. Two can hear a bit of disdain in One’s voice for his clone brethren. He doesn’t believe he has done anything so far to elicit that emotion from him. 

“Five Lotors,” murmurs Hunk. “And we thought one was bad.”

The two Lotors choose not to fault him for that assessment. 

“Over the past three years, the witch has allowed the universe to fall into chaos and now that she has what she wants she will-”

“Hang on,” the Altean girl interrupts. “Why are we sitting here listening to what they have to say? We attacked them and left them behind in the Rift for a reason. Everything he says is a lie.”

She still speaks of them as though they are one person. In a way she is right. They were one person once, the person she believes wronged her was just one person. Her slip happens when she refers to the two people before her as one person, which they very clearly are not. Still, it makes it very easy to discredit her. Clearly, she is choosing to let the past and her emotions get the better of her. Shiro seems to recognize this when he offers her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Romelle, but this is too strange to ignore. Of course, we’ll take everything he says with a grain of salt,” He gives both clones a discerning once over. “But if he has anything to say for how or why he is here, I think he should be allowed to explain it.”

Romelle crosses her arms in front of her chest, unhappy with his decision but not about to disagree with him. Then, after a moment’s deliberation, she leaves the cave altogether.

“Allura, do you want to make sure Romelle is okay?” Shiro asks, trying to be kind. Allura’s discomfort is obvious to everyone in the room and he is only trying to put her out of her misery. She keeps to the back of the group, leaning against the wall and just barely keeping the clones in eyesight. Neither clone is able to see her expression as she answers.

“I think I’ll stay right here,” she swallows and collects herself before speaking again. Her voice is tense, but she is forcing it to sound otherwise. “Coran, do you think you could check on her?”

Coran has hardly taken his wide eyes off of either clone since they had arrived, but he breaks his stare at the princess’ words. “Um… yes. Yes! Of course, princess. Right-o.” 

He nearly trips over scattered fuel cans as he leaves. The poor advisor is so shaken by the appearance of two Lotors and by trying to act quickly that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Shiro frowns as Coran’s retreating back before turning that grimace back to the Lotors on the ground. “Tell us what you know about what Haggar is up to.” 

“Did you intercept the broadcast?” asks Two. Their existence shouldn’t be a complete surprise to them if they have. Judging by how shocked they seem to be by their presence in this plane of existence, it seems safe to assume that they haven’t.

“We intercepted a recording, but we haven’t watched it,” says the green paladin. “I was going to go through the backlog eventually. There didn’t seem to be any reason to rush.”

One nods and decides that it’s his turn to explain. “The transmission in question is a formal announcement of the Emperor’s return. In it, one of the other clones, we assume the one the witch initially intended to create, addresses the Empire.” He frowns for a moment. “What’s left of it anyway.”

Lance folds his arms across his chest. “No need to look so sad about the end of an evil empire.”

One narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again after a steadying breath. “The Empire might not have been perfect, but it kept the universe in order. We haven’t seen much of the universe since we were reborn, but all reports say that the last three deca-phoebs have been nothing but chaos. Do you not understand that government is better than chaos?”

One had tried very hard not to be confrontational, but he fears that his passion has been mistaken for anger. Perhaps he is angry, but not at the paladins. 

“Alright,” interjects Shiro. “So how do you two come into play? How did you get all the way out here?”

Two tries his best to push some of One’s hair out of his face, before addressing the question. “When the witch realized her mistake, in bringing five Lotors into existence instead of one, she ordered that all but the one she had intended to create be destroyed. We, along with another two unintended clones fought off her Druids and the two of us seized the moment for our escape.”

“What happened to the other two?” asks Hunk.

“They chose to stay behind. It is more than likely the witch has killed them by now.”

Shiro refocuses the conversation, guiding them to more important information. “So you escaped the capital flagship. Then what happened?”

“I suppose this also means you haven’t seen the warrants out for our arrests.” Two flashes a charming smirk at the former black paladin, showing one of his fangs. “We stopped for supplies, assessed our options, and decided that if anyone could help us it would be the paladins of Voltron. We had no idea we would ever be fortunate enough to run into you by chance.”

The paladin in red armor looks up from what he has been doing. He is kneeling down beside Kolivan and the Galra woman. While his attention has been focused on making sure his former leader is alright, he has also been following their conversation. “So you weren’t able to follow us? No one else knows where we are?”

One answers. “We followed the same distress signal you no doubt received and it lead us here. It was only once we were close enough to the planet that we realized someone else had gotten here first.”

The room goes silent for a moment. Neither Lotor is naive enough to believe that they have reached the end of their interrogation, but it is interesting to see how each member of the team responds to each answer they are given. All of them are deciding for themselves what they are going to do with the pair of them now that they have them. Sure, they could ask questions of them until they are gasping for breath, but eventually, they will need to come to a decision. Each of them weighs the information they have now against what they already know of Lotor, and the two clones have to wait and see whether or not their lives and information are worth more than vengeance.

If they decide to kill him or leave him here on this deserted rock, it could only be an act of vengeance. They can call it justice all they want, but his life, his information, can save millions of lives. It has always been that way if one has the stomach to perform the calculus.

“Before, you said you wanted to find us.” It is a shock to everyone in the room when Princess Allura breaks the silence first. She steps forward and addresses them with a cold, stern gaze. “What would make you think that we would ever help you?”

“Princess,” begins One, pausing for a tick when he notices her flinch at the sound of her title. “Regardless of what we have done, we remain on the same side. I will not attempt to justify past actions now. Neither of us want that witch to reign over the universe. We do not want innocent lives lost to her insane lust for power. With the help of our clone, she has access to every advancement we made in her work.” He pauses, preparing to unveil their main bargaining chip. “Including those advancements you despise us for.”

Allura does not balk. She does not look away from them. There is no emotion to be found at all on her face, and One is in endless admiration of her. “I see,” she says slowly. “And what do you have to offer us. As you have said, Haggar is clearly a threat to the universe. She needs to be stopped, but what is there to stop me from leaving you both to die on this planet as punishment for your crimes?”

Her slip into first person does not go unnoticed by either clone. One is instantly grateful when Two comes to his rescue. He doesn’t have a word left in him under Allura’s icy disdain. “We can take you to the colony,” he says simply. 

With a few words, he leaves her speechless. He doesn’t have to continue speaking, she will agree to go with him regardless but he feels as though it would be rude to be so blunt. “The Blade and your paladin were able to make it through the Rift, but at the cost of deca-phoebs of waiting. We can take you there directly. You could be there in less than a movement.”

It’s almost cruel to have her so firmly at their mercy. She’ll do anything to get to that colony, just to see them, to be around Alteans again, her people. Who knows what she would do in order to save them? Apparently, she’ll put her trust in them again. The decision is already plain on her face.

Lance asks for clarification and he gives it. Allura shuts her eyes tightly as he does. With a Lotor on Haggar’s side, she’ll be able to find and harvest Alteans to use as batteries in her experiments. She could create a better, more powerful Voltron if they don’t stop her.

Wordlessly, they all come to the conclusion that this would be a very bad thing, indeed. 

“So it looks like Earth has to wait,” says Hunk, quietly. “Again.” The green and blue-clad paladins offer him comforting arms. They know as well as he does that yes, Earth will have to wait.

“How are we going to transport them?” Allura, trying her best to remain steadfastly pragmatic when it comes to the clones. 

In a quick negotiation of space and logistics, they decide that Two will fly with Keith, Shiro, and Krolia in the black lion. Coran and the mice will fly with Allura in the blue lion. Romelle will fly with Lance, the being they call Kaltenecker will fly with Hunk, and One and the Cosmic wolf will fly with Pidge. No one is overly thrilled by the arrangements. Without coming right out and saying it, it is clear from the start that no one wants Allura to fly with one of the clones. She doesn’t state a preference, but no one dares to even suggest it. They also decide that it would be best to keep the clones away from Lance, who has already proven that he cannot keep his anger in check when it comes to Lotor. 

They walk back into town and back towards the lions, still ironing out the details. Both Lotors insist that they can and will walk peacefully back to the lions, but no one heeds them. Instead, they are carried gracelessly out of the caves. 

The clones will be firmly secured on board their respective lions. The blue bayard is returned to Allura in exchange for metal coil and handcuffs. 

Both Lotors choose to let the Castle of Lions’ absence go unremarked upon. The Voltron team was on a long journey to Earth without their usual and more comfortable mode of transportation. Something must have happened to it, likely something to do with the Rift. 

As they head to their respective lions, both of them try to catch a glimpse of Allura before she secludes herself in her lion for who knows how long. It is hard to say whether or not she really does hate them. For the rest of the universe, it has been three deca-phoebs since their joint disappearance. For the members of Voltron, it has only been three movements since their fight. For the clones, it has been a matter of days. Her anger seems to have cooled slightly, but whether or not she can ever truly speak to them again, whether things can ever go back to the way they were, remains to be seen. 

Perhaps things between them can never go back to the way they were. Perhaps things are better off that way. 

Neither Lotor is discouraged by Allura’s lack of warmth. That is to be expected. The fact that she spoke to them at all is encouraging. The fact that they are now boarding two of the Voltron lions is more than they could have anticipated. Now, they have every reason to be optimistic. So they are going to be optimistic while they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far! We finally get to meet Voltron! I didn't intend this to be quite as slow a burn as it is, but I'm kind of loving all of these different little interactions and consequences. I'm having a fun time writing this.
> 
> If you want to come talk to me about this fic or Lotor or whatever, you can always find me on tumblr [here](https://keep-on-leggin.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	4. The Gentle Scholar (The Soft Nerd)

Lotor doesn’t mind the wolf. 

In fact, the wolf seems to like him. Lotor couldn’t blame it for distrusting him at first. He gave it some space after its initial snarls, but after an hour or so, it really seems to have warmed up to him. 

“Is he always this friendly?” Lotor asks the green paladin after the wolf sidles along next to him and lays down at his side. 

Pidge turns around in the cockpit and looks at the two of them. She has been decidedly terse with him throughout their journey thus far, despite everything Lotor has done to convey he means no harm. This paladin is the youngest and the smallest. If it weren’t for Allura and Lance’s indisposition towards the two clones, he would likely have been assigned to fly with one of them. Perhaps she feels a special pressure to perform well. 

“No,” says Pidge. “He really only likes Keith. Lance tries to treat him like a dog and it ate Coran’s shoes once. Swallowed them whole.”

Lotor smiles down at the beast but does not pet it. He knows better than to push the bounds of the creature’s trust farther than they are willing to go. He rather likes his limbs the way they are. 

“They have wolves like this inside the Quantum Abyss, but those are fused with quintessence on a molecular level and are thus capable of extraordinary things.”

Pidge frowns. “That’s where Keith found this one. He was looking for your colony and traveled through the Quantum Abyss. It took him two years.”

Lotor raises his eyebrows. “He bonded with a Cosmic Wolf? I’m surprised it ever leaves his side.”

“It doesn’t, but I guess he thinks you’re dangerous.”

Lotor looks down at the slumbering form leaning up against him. It is warm and extremely hairy. He doesn’t appear to be awake or guarding, but perhaps that is because Lotor has been a very good prisoner so far. He wants Pidge, the wolf, and the rest of the paladins to trust him. If the wolf is the first to take him up on that offer of renewed relations, so be it. 

“I’ve always been rather fond of animals,” Lotor mused. He was beginning to relax despite Pidge’s anxieties and the feral wolf asleep beside him. “When I was a boy, the Witch kept a cat named Kova. She always hated that the thing seemed to like me. I decided at eight that the cat was going to be mine instead of hers and that was where its patience with me ended. Still, I think it was the Witch’s fault that the beast ever tried to take a swipe at me. Up until then, it had only ever been amicable.”

Lotor had thought he was accustomed to silence, used to being alone, but perhaps being cooped up with himself for quintents had left him in want of someone to talk to. Even when he had been on his own, there had always been other people, the natives of the planets he traveled to, the merchants in the transport stations, other travelers off to any destination in the universe, to talk to. He enjoyed learning about others and sometimes the ideas inside his own head seemed too big to keep to himself. 

Still, he never expected Pidge to respond to his ramblings. “I’ve never been much of an animal person. I like math and machines, trying to figure out how things work more than anything, but I always loved the plants my mom kept around the house. She had hundreds of different species that she grew at work and then she had a couple that she took home with her. They were more like pets than anything else.”

Perhaps Pidge is in need of someone to talk to as well. The few times they had spoken before had been about technology and mechanical theory. She always managed to work herself into a frenzy at the idea of inventing and fixing. Perhaps she had few others to talk to about that sort of thing. Lotor smiles. “You sound like a true scholar, Pidge, with a gentle heart like your mother’s.”

Pidge turns back to the console and away from him. For a moment, Lotor thinks he must have said something wrong. He thinks back on their previous conversations, the ones from his past life, trying to find any clue as to what might have gone wrong. Back then they had only ever discussed matters of innovation, never anything as personal as family. 

“Have you ever been to Kanarian V?” he asks, deciding to avoid the subject of family altogether. He knows that if anyone had ever asked after his own family, he would have wished them to have similar insight. 

“No?”

“It’s been centuries since I’ve visited but they have the most glorious jungles. The whole planet is covered in them. The jungles there grow unchecked thanks to the lack of large animal evolution on the planet. There were some attempts to colonize the planet, but the acid rains and carnivorous plants made it nearly impossible even for the Galra.”

Pidge hasn’t turned back around to face him, but Lotor thinks, or rather hopes, that she is listening in. 

“You’ve really been alive for centuries?”

Lotor had hoped that she would find the stories of his travels an interesting topic of conversation, but he is pleased that the Green Paladin continues to speak to him.

He scratches his chin with a claw. “It has been a while since I have done the math… When the figure gets to be over ten thousand decaphoebs, I’m usually reminded that I’m too old to care how old I am.”

“What is that like? In ten thousand years, you’ve seen the rise and fall of planets, met too many people to remember, learned more than is possible for your brain to hold…”

Pidge’s eyes dart back and forth as she tries to conceive ten thousand years of a life lived. It’s unthinkable. 

“Well, I’ve made attempts to study my own biology. It appears that I am a rare specimen. My memory is not perfect, but it seems proportional to yours. Whenever I find someplace to call home, I always make sure to back up my files. I live in constant fear that I may forget something someday, Pidge, and it is too important to me that I never do.”

Behind her glasses, Pidge’s brows furrow. “ Galra don’t typically live as long as you, Zarkon, or Haggar. I assume it has something to do with Haggar’s experimentation with Quintessence. Is your anatomy the same after being cloned? I’m not sure she could replicate the same effect with a new body.”

Lotor’s eyes widen. He has not yet considered the fact that this body, the one that moves and appears so much like his own, is not. It has been fabricated by the Witch, a cheap knock-off of what he once possessed, and there is a very real possibility that he is not physically the same as he once was. Would he age faster? Was he weaker? Would he remember less? Would his body obey the Witch’s will instead of his own at the worst possible moment?

How stupid was he to have failed to consider these possibilities?

His breath quickens in his chest. Even the wolf can sense that he is beginning to panic. It picks its head up and looks at him, cocking its head to the side inquisitively. Before he can formulate a response, save himself from gaping like an Untari Gulper fish, the wolf begins to glow. In a flash of white light, Lotor is somewhere else altogether. 

The bright light was too similar to another light that haunted him. Lotor felt beads of sweat on his brow and held his head in his hands. Not since he was a boy has he had such a hard time calming himself down. Recollections of his death, an overwhelming sense of dissociation from his own body, and rising panic left him numb to the space around him. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to find something to hold on to. 

His clawed fingers grip his short hair and the strange sensation of his shorn locks makes everything worse. He thinks he hears voices but he finds it so hard to tell what is real and what isn’t. Someone grasps his shoulders, tries to shake him, possibly hits him, but he can’t say who. He thinks he hears Allura saying his name, but he knows that can’t be real. 

Lotor is unsure how long it takes for his panic to end. He feels cold when it passes, damp with sweat and shaking. 

When he opens his eyes, he wonders if he imagined the flash of white light. He is back inside one of the lions and they all look rather similar inside. Then he begins to pick up on details. Different crates are stacked up in the corner. There are blue lights instead of green. There are four mice watching him from across the floor. 

Lotor knows where he is, though he can’t quite believe it. 

He places a steadying hand against the cold floor and rights himself. This is Allura’s lion, which means-

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes follow the sound of her voice and meet the end of Allura’s bayard. She holds it outstretched in both hands, aimed for his throat. She hasn’t configured it into any weapon in particular just yet. It remains at the ready, forcing him to lift his chin. 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” His voice is dry and broken. He isn’t sure why. “Does the wolf do that often?”

Allura frowns down at him. “You didn’t force it to bring you here? To take Coran away?”

Lotor clears his throat and feels his skin kiss the edge of her bayard. “I wasn’t in any condition to coerce it to do anything. I’m not certain I could have if I wanted to.”

“Why did Cosmo bring you here?” She asks, more to herself than to him. 

Lotor honestly has no idea. The wolf had clearly sensed his oncoming panic, but why had it brought him here? He wondered if it was because it sensed a connection between the two of them or because Allura seemed likely to provide comfort, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Moving Coran elsewhere was another act that Lotor couldn’t fully explain, but he didn’t mind the flight master's absence.

When Lotor has remained still and quiet long enough to no longer be considered a threat, Allura lowers her bayard. Her expression is tight as she considers him kneeling before her. She looks as though she would rather launch him out into space than have him anywhere near her but she can’t bring herself to open the airlock. 

Allura looks over her shoulder at the pilot’s chair. The Blue Lion is flying automatically, following the others on their current heading. She doesn’t have anything else to do or anywhere else to be but here. Here with him. 

“Are you alright?”

Lotor tries not to smile and he thinks he succeeds. He almost tells her that yes, he is perfectly fine, now that he is speaking with her, but he knows that isn’t what she means. Instead, he considers his well-being, steering away from those raw places in his mind that could send him spiraling once more. 

“I’m alright,” he says with certainty. He isn’t sure what came over him, but whatever it was it seems to have passed. He looks up at her, wondering if he should say more. “I’m not quite sure what that was if I’m honest.”

Allura nods but says nothing. She is holding herself back. If he was someone, anyone else, she would be knelt down beside him, with his face in her hands, soothing and telling him he was alright. It takes some effort for her not to comfort him, to fall back into the familiar patterns of caring for him again. 

“Is it really you?” She asks at last. She looks down and away from him, as though she’s ashamed of even asking the question. “I know it can’t be, but… I don’t know what else to think.”

Lotor pities her, he really does. He can’t make this any easier for her, he has only just wrapped his head around the situation himself. 

“It is and it isn’t.” He adds a smile that Allura refuses to see. He was hoping for a laugh at that, something to let him know that she isn’t too angry with him, something to give him hope.

“I was afraid it was something like that. There are two of you. How?”

“I think you are aware of the witch’s fondness for clones. The process was never explained to me, but from what I have been able to deduce, she was attempting to bring us back to life. She summoned my soul from where it was in the rift and created a body in which to house it. I fear that the soul became split during the process and imbued in five bodies altogether instead of one.”

“There are five of you?” Allura sounds slightly ill.

“As far as I am aware,” Lotor wasn’t quite finished with his explanation, but he is fond of Allura and her curiosity, so he takes no issue with her. 

“What happened to the others?” Her voice is still that low, serious tone that has colored all of their recent conversations. She means business and doesn’t want to invest any emotion into him. Still, she sounds curious and Lotor takes that as a good sign. 

“We left them on board the Witch’s ship. One the witch chose as her perfect son. The rest of us were meant to be destroyed. We fought. I and my traveling companion made the decision to escape while the other two chose to remain behind.” Lotor frowned. “One was quite adamant about staying and the other was rather deranged.”

“Deranged? That is odd. It sounds as though each of you has a different personality. Despite being clones, you each made distinctly different choices in the face of drastically different consequences.”

Lotor remembers this side of Allura from their time in Honerva’s rooms and building the Sincline together. He wonders if she remembers that time the way he does: perfect, hopeful, and at peace. Is it too much to hope that she might miss those days too?

“I’m not sure that we have different personalities. We seem to share the same memories, the same experiences. I’m not sure that any magic the Witch might have worked could have invented five beings from nothing.”

“You misunderstand me. Not five original personalities, but facets of the original person.” Allura frowns and remembers herself. She has gotten too excited, too interested, invested. She takes a moment to chastise herself before continuing. Her face turns darker as she recalls something. “I have had the displeasure of meeting you when you were that so-called ‘deranged’ version of yourself. It is not something I have the desire to ever witness again.”

Lotor has some memory of how he died. It is hazy, full of bright light and sensation. Sensation is the best way he can describe it for himself. He remembers his time in the rift as feeling everything all at once. There was a power there that sustained him, overstimulated him, and the effect was such that he cannot remember it very clearly at all. 

He sits down, a conscious effort to put Allura more at ease without coming any closer to her. The last thing he wants to do is overstep his bounds when their relationship is on tenuous ground at best. His form has always been tall, too tall to ever appear truly non-threatening, but he does his best. 

“If the two of you are going to travel with us we are going to have to talk about what happened.”

He looks up at her. “By all means.” 

“Tell me about the colony.”

“The colony began after I went into exile. I was furious with my father and wanted nothing to do with the Galra, so I began investigating my parentage. For years, I learned about Altea and its people and how my father destroyed it all. Except, he did not succeed. After all, I was alive, a half-breed at best, but still a living remnant of a lost culture. I decided I would dedicate my life to finding others like me: exiles, expatriates, and half-breeds scattered across the galaxy and searching for a homeland. Years of research led me to the planet the colony now calls home. It took years to get the people there, but hearing some of the elders talk of how similar it was to Altea made it all worth it. There truly is a second Altea out there, no matter what your friend has told you.”

As hard as he had tried, he couldn’t keep that last bit of spite out of his words. That Altean girl had completely mischaracterized his intentions and slandered him. If Allura could only visit the Colony, see and improve upon his work, surely then all would be forgiven. 

“Romelle is a dear friend,” said Allura, her brows knit together. “And she wasn’t wrong about the existence of an entire colony of my people that you kept hidden from me. They are my people, Lotor, and you had no right. You should have told me at once.”

It takes all of his considerable self-control not to comfort her in any way. He wants nothing more than to place a comforting hand on her arm or to brush away the tears in her eyes when they will inevitably fall. But he can’t. She feels hurt and betrayed and there is very little he can do to fix that now. All he has are his words and he hopes they will be enough. 

“I won’t make excuses for my actions. There is a belief amongst the Galra that the actions we make towards justice in the future are more important than the words we use to speak of them.” Lotor considers the phrasing of a saying he knows by heart. “It is rare that the words in Galra are more poetic, but it seems to be the case here. Regardless, I will not apologize for the past ten thousand years of my existence and neither will any of the others. Instead, I beg you, princess, to let us make things right.”

Allura doesn’t look as though she is breathing. Her eyes are wide, her jaw is set, and she considers Lotor’s offer. Her eyes shine in the dim light of the Blue Lion, glassy from tears that have yet to fall. 

“The fact that either of you is still alive should tell you that I intend to.”

She returns to the pilot’s chair, leaving him to wonder whether he has made any progress with her or set them back. Lotor runs a hand through his short hair. The motion is starting to become a nervous tick. He needs to stop before someone recognizes it for what it is. Never in his life has he had short hair before though. His head feels curiously light while at the same time it gives him a sense of loss. He wonder if Allura cares that his hair is gone. 

Allura learns that Coran is safe aboard the Green Lion and the Cosmic Wolf, Cosmo, has returned to Keith’s side. The other paladins check in with Allura to see if she minds having one of the clones on board. She claims she doesn’t, and while her tone of voice doesn’t fool anyone, she is insistent that they do not stop just to change the seating arrangements once again. No one wants to imply that Allura isn’t strong enough to handle this, everyone knows she is, so they keep their objections to themselves.

“Just try to keep him in one piece, okay, Allura?” Coran says over Pidge’s comm link. 

“I will.”

A few hours pass in relative silence. Lotor attempts to sleep in the head of the lion, not far from Allura’s sight. He tries to balance Allura’s desires to have as little interaction with him as possible and the desire to make sure he isn’t up to no good. 

Part of him still can’t believe he is this close to her, that she hasn’t torn him limb from limb for what he has done or sliced him up with her bayard. They have had a civil conversation, covering all of the nastiest bits of their relationship, and come out on the other side unscathed. Perhaps it is too early to call it progress, but Lotor has begun to let himself hope. There may be a way that things can return to the way they once were after all. 

Lotor is old enough to know that you can never return to the way things once were. Wishing for it, trying to make it so is a fool’s errand. Instead of bringing the two of them back to the way things once were, they can have something better. Nothing left to hide, everything out between them, they can feel something like what they had before without worrying that something from either of their pasts will ruin it. 

“It feels like ages since I’ve seen you and at the same time, it has been mere quintents,” he says eventually. He can’t help himself. The silence is unbearable.

“Supposedly, decaphoebs passed while we were in the rift. It felt like ticks to us,” Allura says before sighing. “It really hasn’t been long enough.”

“What do you mean?”

She looks at him fully. She can’t really believe that he doesn’t understand. “I thought you were dead. I was so angry with you but I never wanted you dead. I almost forgave you when I thought you were gone for good. I think I could have...” 

“But it’s easier to forgive someone who is no longer around than someone who is sitting in front of you.”

Allura nods. She bites her lip, wanting to add something else, but unsure if she should. What does she have to lose by saying anything to him? 

When she does speak, she starts slowly. “I cared for you,” she says. “In a way that I have never cared for anyone.” Her voice becomes stronger as she speaks. He almost thinks she is gearing up to shout at him. “Finding out about what you had done hurt me more than you will ever know. I wish things could go back to the way that they were. We were right on the edge of ending this conflict for good. But we can’t. I will never be able to trust you like that ever again. Much as I wish I could.”

“Allura, nothing about what I felt for you was artifice-” He pauses as the lion shifts around them as he speaks. They both put it down to some sort of turbulence. “If it weren’t for your friend’s revelation, nothing between us would have changed.”

Allura’s eyes narrow. “Whatever was between us was built on lies. It wasn’t real, none of it.”

“Of course it was.” Just when he thought they had made progress, they were back to arguing. “Allura, I am ten thousand decaphoebs old. Of course there are things you don’t know-”

“Guys, are you seeing this?” Lance’s voice over the communication system cuts Lotor off. Allura is more than happy to return to the pilot’s chair and forget about the Galra man sitting behind her. 

“What is it- oh,” Allura cuts herself off as she sees exactly what he means. 

The ship is nearly impossible to miss. Lotor has no idea how they managed to let a Galra cruiser get so close to them. Despite how much he knows Allura would rather he keep his distance, he can’t help but climb up to the viewport to get a better look. 

“It’s been pirated,” he says, noting the ships run down appearance. No self-respecting Galra officer would have piloted their cruiser in such a state. They appeared to be low on fuel and conserving electricity, and had not yet hailed their lions. 

“How did it get this close?” asks Keith over the comms. 

“It appears to be running low on fuel, most non-essential systems are being diverted to run an advanced cloaking shield,” says Pidge. “It never came up on our radar.”

“Have they seen us?” asks Shiro.

The lack of communication thus far seems to suggest that they haven’t, but from the way the hull of the ship looms large, taking up the entirety of their viewport, it seems foolish to think that they haven’t. The cruiser is almost literally on top of them. 

“What do we do?” asks Lance. It isn’t clear who he wants an answer from.

“Uh, guys?” Hunk’s nervous voice draws their attention to a growing light coming from the Galra cruiser. 

His initial instinct is fear, but Lotor corrects himself when he realizes that the beam isn’t a plasma cannon aimed right at them. No, this is something else, possibly something that the pirates developed themselves. He has an idea what it might be and only when the lions are caught and pulled towards the ship is he proven correct. They are trapped in a tractor beam, one that the pirates have invented and implemented themselves. 

Each of the paladins rears back on their controls, attempting to force their way out of the beam. Nothing works. The ship grows ever larger outside their windows. 

Lotor refuses to feel anxious about being captured by Galra pirates. The empire is scattered. This ship is clearly not in league with Haggar. Whoever it is might even welcome their old emperor. And if not…

Well, now he has the paladins of Voltron to help fend them off. 

He wonders if his clone feels similarly about their situation. He remembers how his clone had been a brave and courageous fighter when they made their escape from the capital flagship. If Allura and Pidge’s theories about his personality being split between the clones were correct, it seemed that he had not been given any of his former self’s swordsmanship. He recalls how his clone had been eager to rush into danger, to align themselves with those who by rights should have hated them. Perhaps he had received something a bit more valuable than swordsmanship. 

The lions are pulled onto a flight deck and their power is disabled for the time being. He and Allura share a look before the blue lion’s mouth opens and the paladins prepare to meet their captors. Lotor admires her fearlessness. Allura has traveled the galaxy long enough to know that she and her friends can get themselves out of almost every situation. She has nothing to fear from a couple of low rank renegades. 

They come out with their hands up, as do the others. The pirates have their weapons trained on each of them as they descend. This isn’t Lotor’s first encounter with pirates nor his first time as a fugitive.

He keeps his head high, disdain on his lips. No matter what he feels inside, he will look every inch the emperor he is. Distantly he hears gasps, no doubt in reaction to seeing his face for the first time in decaphoebs. Perhaps in response to seeing to of him. 

He pays the pirates no mind. They don’t matter. All that matters is that in short order, he will have to bargain for their release. These degenerates will almost certainly have a price. Or else, he will be forced to escape. Until then, it is not worth interacting with any of them. 

At least, that is what he believes, until three pirates shove their way to the front of the crowd and force themselves into his view. 

Axca and Ezor gasp when they see him. 

“Lotor?” Zethrid shouts his name at him. She is too shocked to make it sound like an insult.

Lotor is shocked too. The galaxy rarely seems this small. Though, the people want to avoid always have a way of showing up at the least convenient moment. His cold facade is lost as he faces the three women he really did betray. The ones who trusted him the most. 

This routine imprisonment was not going to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn't think it would take this long to get the next chapter out. Now with romance!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me and I loved it too much not to write it. Lotor is without a doubt my favorite character in the series. It's too much fun to play in a universe where there is not just one but five of him. 
> 
> I'm not sure how often this will update, but I definitely have more planned for this fic. The two escaping Lotors have to catch up to Voltron eventually don't they?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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